SAN  DIEGO 


THE 

PROVENCAL  LYRIC 


BY 

^LEWIS  F.  MOTT,  PH.D. 

PROFESSOR  OF  ENGLISH  AT  THE  COLLEGE  OF  THE  CITY 
OF  NEW  YORK 


NEW  YORK 

WILLIAM  R.  JENKINS 
851-853  SIXTH  AVENUE 


COPYRIGHT,  1901 
BY  LEWIS  F.  MOTT 
AH  Right*  Reserved 


PRESS  Or  WILLIAM  B.  JKNKINS,   NEW   YORK 


NOTE 

This  lecture  was  delivered  in  the  Chapter 
Room  of  the  Carnegie  Building,  December 
1st,  1900,  before  the  Comparative  Literature 
Society. 


I  ! 


THE  PROVENCAL  LYRIC 

o 


In  the  ancient  land  of  vintage  and  dance 
and  sun-burnt  mirth,  there  resounded  during 
the  Middle  Ages  a  sweet  chorus  of  song,  which 
was  the  delight,  not  only  of  the  native  lords 
and  ladies,  but  of  cultivated  society  in  all 
neighboring  countries.  Spreading  to  France, 
Spain,  Germany  and  Italy,  its  underlying 
ideas  and  fancies  furnished  the  basis  of  much 
that  is  greatest  in  mediaeval  literature.  Its 
sudden  appearance,  its  rapid  development,  its 
brief  glory,  and  its  untimely  extinction,  in- 
vest this  lyric  outburst  with  a  special,  almost 
tragic,  interest.  In  fifty  years  from  the  first 
recorded  song  of  Guilhem  de  Poitiers  (1090), 

1 


it  entered  upon  the  period  of  its  perfect  bloom; 
then  for  a  century  it  flourished,  manifesting 
its  spirit  most  completely  in  Bernart  de 
Ventadorn,  Bertran  de  Born  and  Arnaut 
Daniel ;  by  1250  the  decline,  already  pre- 
figured in  the  verses  of  Guiraut  de  Borneil, 
had  begun,  and,  before  the  fourteenth  century 
opened,  this  brilliant  creation  had  perished  in 
didacticism  and  commonplace. 

What  was  the  source  of  this  efflorescence? 
Where  did  it  first  bud?  In  what  popular 
element  did  it  strike  its  roots?  These  are  still 
matters  of  learned  speculation.  What  seems 
practically  certain  is  the  fact  that  no  external 
impulse  generated  this  poetry  or  influenced 
its  early  growth.  It  stands  absolutely  by 
itself.  Classic  literature,  which  had  continued 
more  or  less  to  occupy  the  attention  of  the 

2 


THE    PROVENgAL    LYRIC 

learned  few,  had  no  part  in  its  origin  or  de- 
velopment. It  was  the  spontaneous  product 
of  the  conditions  surrounding  its  birth. 

The  poetry  of  the  troubadours  was  essen- 
tially social  in  character.  Unlike  Goethe's 
minstrel,  who  sang  as  the  bird  among  the 
branches,  these  bards  exercised  their  art  for 
the  sake  of  applause  and  gain, — a  recompense 
which  could  be  won  only  by  pleasing  the 
knights  and  ladies  gathered  at  the  court  of 
some  wealthy  and  noble  patron.  Of  the  three 
classes  into  which  feudal  society  was  divided 
— commons,  clergy  and  nobles — the  last  alone 
possessed  either  the  means  or  the  desire  to 
reward  literary  and  musical  skill.  It  was  to 
this  class,  therefore,  to  the  Counts  of  Provence 
and  Toulouse,  to  Eleanore  of  Aquitaine  and 
Ermengarde  of  Narbonne,  to  Richard  the 
3 


THE    PROVENgAL    LYRIC 

Lionhearted  and  Alfonso  of  Aragon,  that  the 
Provencal  lyric  was  addressed. 

In  the  eleventh  century  the  nobility,  which 
had  previously  been  terribly  rough  and  bar- 
barous, began  to  grow  more  refined.  Under 
the  influence  of  favorable  conditions,  chivalry 
was  developed.  Particularly  in  the  south  of 
France,  where  wealth  had  long  accumulated 
and  where,  through  rights,  taxes  and  the 
sale  of  privileges,  it  flowed  largely  into  the 
hands  of  the  great  lords,  the  delight  in  life 
became  conspicuous.  Prodigality  was  the 
fashion.  As  in  the  Elizabethan  age  in  Eng- 
land, the  love  of  splendor  manifested  itself 
particularly  in  gorgeousuess  of  dress  and 
magnificence  of  entertainments.  A  host  of 
attendants  accompanied  the  man  of  rank,  and 
the  ideal  prince  bestowed  gifts  lavishly  and 

4 


THE    PROVENQAL    LYRIC 

without  thought  upon  knights,  squires,  and, 
above  all,  upon  jongleurs. 

These  jongleurs — the  successors  of  the  Latin 
Mimi — supplied  entertainment  to  the  com- 
mons at  the  fairs  and  to  the  higher  classes  at 
their  feasts.  The  meaner  kind  not  only  re- 
cited, sang  and  played  on  musical  instruments, 
but  performed  as  jugglers,  dancers,  acrobats 
and  exhibitors  of  trained  animals.  But  the 
courtly  singers  were  not  of  this  order.  Though 
mostly  professional  minstrels,  they  were  not 
infrequently  the  friends  and  companions  of 
princes.  When  they  wandered  from  castle  to 
castle,  they  were  honorably  received;  when 
they  attached  themselves  to  some  particular 
patron,  they  were  caressed  and  richly  paid. 
We  are  told  that  one  great  lord  was  so  highly 
pleased  with  the  first  song  of  Aimeric  de 
5 


THE    PROVENQAL    LYRIC 

Pegulhan  tliat  lie  gave  him  his  own  palfrey 
and  the  very  clothes  he  wore. 

Guiraut  de  Borneil  avers  that,  for  good 
singing,  four  conditions  are  necessary — love, 
a  favorable  time,  a  favorable  place,  and  ap- 
plause. These  conditions  were  found  com- 
bined at  the  feast  in  the  castle  hall,  before  and 
after  which  the  entertainment  consisted  of 
music,  song  and  story  by  the  jongleur  or  by 
the  guests  themselves.  In  a  novas  by  Raimon 
Vidal,  we  are  told  of  his  visit  to  Uc  de 
Mataplan  in  Catalonia.  It  is  spring.  Without 
reigns  the  charm  of  flowers,  fresh  leaves  and 
the  soft,  sweet  air;  yet  it  is  pleasant  also 
within  the  house.  Many  rich  barons  and 
many  fair  and  courteous  ladies  are  there  con- 
gregated. Some  are  playing  checkers  or  chess, 
others  are  engaged  in  conversation;  laughter, 

6 


THE    PROVENQAL    LYRIC 

joy  and  high  spirits  abound.  Presently  a 
jongleur  enters,  graceful,  gentle,  and  richly 
attired.  He  sings  many  songs  and  presents 
other  diversions.  When  he  ends,  each  returns 
to  his  former  pleasures. 

Such  is  a  contemporary  picture  of  the  society 
which  inspired  and  moulded  the  Provencal 
lyric.  Illiterate  and  yet  cultivated,  these 
lords  and  ladies  demanded  of  their  poets  a 
strict  adherence  to  generally  recognized  con- 
ventional forms,  and,  at  the  same  time,  an 
elaboration  of  artificial  conceits  and  an  origin- 
ality of  metrical  complication,  which  gave 
pleasure  in  the  feeling  of  difficulties  overcome. 

The  conventionalism,  both  in  ideas  and  in 
forms,  must  be  obvious  to  every  reader.  In- 
stead of  the  description  of  nature,  we  find 
vague  references  to  green  meadows,  fragrant 
7 


THE    PROVENgAL    LYRIC 

flowers,  and  singing  birds.  It  is  the  same 
with  the  expression  of  love.  The  griefs  and 
joys  of  the  lover,  his  hopes  and  cares,  are  set 
forth  in  general  terms.  The  detail  that  would 
give  life  to  the  picture  is  conspicuously  ab- 
sent. Even  in  the  most  personal  songs  of 
affection,  sorrow  or  hatred,  there  is  the  same 
indefmiteness  of  image.  A  fund  of  materials 
was  accumulated  from  which  all  could  draw. 
The  chief  demand  upon  the  poet  was  that 
these  materials  should  be  perpetually  re- 
arranged in  slightly  varied  combinations. 

Just  as  the  ideas  settled  into  a  system,  so 
the  free  forms  of  popular  poetry  also  hardened 
into  categories,  so  that  later  writers  were  en- 
abled to  set  down  a  code  of  almost  absolute 
laws.  Even  very  early  care  for  form  became 
excessive.  As  a  general  rule,  the  rhymes  of 
8 


THE    PROVENgAL    LYRIC 

every  stanza  throughout  a  poem  are  identical;*' 
there  was  an  effort  to  devise  new  kinds  of 
poetry;  complicated  rhyming  schemes  were 
invented;  to  these  were  added  word-play, 
alliteration  and  forced  constructions;  diffi- 
culties of  every  kind  were  sought.  Some 
poets  even  boasted  it  as  a  merit  that  they 
could  not  be  understood. 

This  artificiality  and  elaboration  seem 
strange  when  we  remember  that  neither  the 
poets  nor  their  audiences  were  really  educated 
people.  Some  few  authors,  it  is  true,  pos- 
sessed a  slight  acquaintance  with  the  Classics, 
— enough  to  make  an  occasional  allusion  to 
Ovid, — but  there  were  many  who  could  not 
even  read  their  native  tongue.  These,  of 


*  In  the  versions  which  follow  no  attempt  has  been 
made  to  preserve  this  peculiarity. 


THE    PROVENgAL    LYRIC 

course,  transmitted  their  songs  orally  to  the 
jongleur,  who  preserved  both  words  and  music 
in  his  memory. 

A  jongleur  was  one  who,  either  as  author  or 
performer,  made  poetry  and  music  a  profes- 
sion. The  name  troubadour,  on  the  other 
hand,  was  reserved  for  him  who  composed, 
whether  for  money  or  merely  for  pleasure. 
It  is  among  the  troubadours,  therefore,  that 
we  find  the  greatest  variety  of  personages. 
Some  were  peasants  or  townsmen,  some  poor 
knights,  some  unfrocked  priests  or  monks. 
Such  made  a  living  by  song.  Their  rivals  in 
fame,  though  not  in  pecuniary  reward,  in- 
cluded powerful  barons,  princes,  and  even 
kings.  Music  and  verse,  it  must  be  remem- 
bered, were  inseparable,  and  the  author  was 
almost  invariably  the  composer  as  well.  Those 

10 


THE    PROVENQAL    LYRIC 

who  could  sing,  moreover,  produced  their  own 
compositions  to  the  accompaniment  of  the 
fiddle  or  the  harp ;  others  employed  profes- 
sional singers,  who  frequently  carried  the 
song  to  a  distant  patron  or  friend.  Papiol, 
who  performed  such  services  for  Bertran  de 
Born,  has  had  his  name  preserved  in  his 
master's  verse,  and  we  learn  from  the  bio- 
graphy that  Guiraut  de  Borneil  always  tra- 
veled with  two  musicians  who  sang  his  works. 
It  would  be  wearisome  to  mention  all  the 
varied  kinds  of  Provengal  lyric;  a  few  of  the 
most  important  must  suffice.  There  was  the 
vers,  a  simple,  early  form,  which  developed 
into  the  canso.  This  was  an  elaborate  poem, 
of  from  five  to  seven  stanzas,  dealing  always 
with  the  subject  of  love,  and  requiring  a 
melody  of  its  own.  On  the  other  hand,  from 
11 


THE    PROVENCAL    LYRIC 

the  sirventesc  love  was  properly  excluded,  and 
it  was  written  to  fit  some  well-known  and 
popular  air.  The  subject  was  moral  or  re- 
ligious, political  or  personal.  In  the  planh 
the  poet  lamented  the  death  of  his  patron,  or 
his  lady-love.  A  most  curious  form  was  the 
tenso,  a  play  of  wit,  in  which,  usually  with 
great  personal  bitterness,  two  poets  debated, 
in  alternate  stanzas,  such  questions  as:  Which 
are  the  greater,  the  benefits  or  the  ills  of  love? 
Which  contribute  most  to  keep  a  lover  faith- 
ful, the  eyes  or  the  heart?  Which  loves  the 
more  deeply,  one  who  can  not  keep  from 
speaking  to  everyone  of  his  lady,  or  one  who 
does  not  speak  of  her  at  all,  but  thinks  of  her 
night  and  day? 

Such  questions  of  love  causistry  are  thor- 
oughly characteristic  of  the  social  element  in 
12 


THE    PROVENgAL    LYRIC 

the  troubadour  poetry.  They  are  questions  of 
which  the  knights  and  ladies  seemed  never 
weary.  The  brilliant  and  worldly  society, 
before  whom  the  Provencal  lyric  was  sung, 
lived  under  the  domination  of  the  ideals  of 
chivalry,  ideals  which  demanded  that  men 
should  fight  and  that  men  should  love.  The 
poetry  that  would  please  this  society  must, 
therefore,  bear  the  stamp  of  these  same  ideals, 
and  subject  itself  to  the  tyranny  of  the  same 
narrow  circle  of  thought.  Religion  could 
mostly  be  left  to  the  close  of  life,  except  as 
it  stirred  warriors  to  battle  for  the  Holy 
Sepulchre.  The  vast  range  of  emotion  open 
to  a  Burns,  a  Heine,  a  Hugo,  lay  in  an  un- 
trodden, if  not  undreamed,  region.  The 
courtly  singers,  be  their  birth  royal,  noble 
or  base,  treat,  with  hardly  an  exception,  of 
13 


THE    PROVENCAL    LYRIC 

two  subjects,  and  two  subjects  alone— of  war 
and  of  love. 

The  love,  indeed,  was  of  that  peculiar  sort 
termed  lady-service.  The  object  of  affection 
was  almost  invariably  a  married  woman  of 
high  rank,  to  whom  the  poet  addressed  his 
homage  and  his  humble  supplications.  How 
much  of  real  passion  and  how  much  of  simu- 
lated adoration  this  relationship  represented, 
it  is  impossible  to  discover.  It  is  reasonable 
to  believe,  however,  that,  in  general,  the  limits 
of  propriety  were  strictly  observed. 

Without  doubt  the  burning  phrases  of  the 
earliest  troubadours  expressed  their  true  sen- 
timents, and  we  can  hardly  believe  that  even 
the  later  poets  were  always  confined  to  emo- 
tions purely  Platonic.  Yet,  on  the  whole,  the 
exaggerated  anguish  and  the  equally  exag- 

14 


THE    PROVENQAL    LYRIC 

gerated  joy,  the  unlimited  praises,  the  assur- 
ances of  absolute  devotion  and  unchangeable- 
ness,  the  wishes,  the  hopes,  the  despairs  of 
these  lovers  must  be  interpreted  as  we  in- 
terpret the  same  sort  of  language  addressed 
by  needy  suppliants  to  Queen  Elizabeth  of 
England. 

In  Provence,  rich  heiresses  married  young, 
and  after  marriage  they  enjoyed  much  liberty. 
Becoming  social  queens,  they  patronized  the 
poor  singers,  who  in  turn  gratified  their  lady- 
ships' vanity  by  prolonging  and  spreading  the 
fame  of  their  beauty.  These  singers,  while 
professing  love,  professed  also  the  deepest 
humility,  a  humility  most  strongly  marked  in 
those  of  much  lower  birth  than  the  ladies  they 
addressed.  Every  one  of  them  proclaimed 
himself  his  lady's  vassal,  until  this  convention 

15 


THE    PROVENQAL    LYRIC 

became  so  firmly  established  that  even  a  king 
(Alfonso  II.)  sang:  "  Her  man,  warranted  and 
sworn,  shall  I  now  be,  if  it  please  her,  before 
all  other  lords." 

As  the  love  itself  was  so  largely  a  con- 
ventional social  function,  so  the  expression 
of  it  grew  into  artificial  formulas.  It  may,, 
indeed,  be  said  that  there  was  a  system  of 
courtly  love. 

The  feelings  of  the  lover  alone  are  por- 
trayed; the  lady  is  commonly  cold,  or  even 
cruel,  as  in  the  following  characteristic  dia- 
logue by  Aimeric  de  Pegulhan: 

Lady,  for  you  great  torment  must  I  bear. 

Sir,  you  are  foolish,  for  I  do  not  care. 

Lady,  for  heaven's  sake  to  me  be  kind. 

Sir,  quite  in  vain  your  empty  prayers  you'll  find. 

Good  lady,  I  do  love  you  faithfully. 

Good  sir,  and  I  dislike  you  utterly. 

16 


THE    PROVENgAL    LYRIC 

Lady,  my  heart  is  therefore  in  distress. 
Sir,  mine  is  ever  light  with  happiness. 

Lady,  all  comfortless,  I  die  for  you. 
Sir,  'tis  a  task  it  takes  you  long  to  do. 
Lady,  to  live  is  worse  than  to  have  died. 
Sir,  since  it  harms  me  not,  I'm  satisfied. 
Lady,  by  you  I  am  discouraged  merely. 
Sir,  do  you  therefore  think  I  love  you  dearly  ? 
Lady,  one  glance  my  saving  could  effect. 
Sir,  hope  or  comfort  you  need  not  expect. 

Lady,  I  go  elsewhere  to  beg  for  grace. 
Sir,  go!  for  who  retains  you  in  this  place? 
Lady,  for  love  of  you  I  cannot  go. 
Tis  no  affair  of  mine,  sir,  as  you  know. 
Lady,  you  answer  me  so  harshly  still. 
Sir,  'tis  because  I  wish  you  every  ill. 
Then,  lady,  I  shall  never  see  you  kind  ? 
Sir,  as  you  say:  at  last  you  know  my  mind. 

The  unfortunate  lover  now  turns  to  address 
the  powerful  being  who  has  made  him  so 
wretched : 

17 


THE    PROVENCAL    LYRIC 

Love,  you  have  cast  me  where  I  have  no  heed. 
For  heaven's  sake,  my  friend,  do  what  you  need. 
Love,  you  reward  at  last  for  every  wound. 
Friend,  I  will  therefore  make  you  safe  and  sound. 
Love,  why  compel  the  choice  of  such  a  one  ? 
Friend,  I  will  show  you  what  had  best  be  done. 
Love,  I  can't  bear  the  pain  that  rends  my  heart. 
Friend,  I  will  choose  another  for  your  part. 

Love,  all  you  do  I  see  is  of  no  use. 

Friend,  you  do  wrong  to  utter  such  abuse. 

Love,  must  I  part  from  her  ?    Then  tell  me  why. 

Friend,  'tis  because  I  grieve  to  see  you  die. 

Love,  do  not  think  my  heart  from  her  to  lure. 

Friend,  then  resolve  in  patience  to  endure. 

Love,  may  I  hope  my  happiness  to  gain? 

Friend,  yes !  at  last,  through  service  and  through  pain. 

The  season  for  love  is  the  spring-time.  This 
is  so  well  established  a  fact  that  the  descrip- 
tion of  gardens,  flowers  and  birds  becomes 
purely  conventional.     Bernart  de  Ventadorn, 
18 


THE    PROVENCAL    LYRIC 

one  of  those  who  helped  to  establish  this  con- 
vention, sings: 

When  flowers  I  see,  and  fresh  green  through  the  land, 
And  in  the  woods  the  song  of  birds  resounds, 
From  th'  other  joy  which  in  my  heart  abounds, 

My  welfare  springs  two-fold,  its  buds  expand  : 
And  in  my  view  no  man  has  any  worth 
Who  now  longs  not  for  love  and  joy,  when  earth 

And  every  living  thing  is  bright  and  gay. 

Love  is  all-important,  it  is  the  highest  good, 
the  climax  of  all  blessings.  "A  man  without 
lady-service,"  says  Peire  d'Alvernhe,  "can  be 
worth  no  more  than  an  ear  of  corn  without 
the  grain." 

That  love  was  all-powerful  was  universally 
recognized.  Very  generally,  indeed,  Love  was 
personified  as  a  being  who  drives  the  lover 
to  hopeless  destruction  and  against  whom  no 
force  could  prevail.  This  god  or  goddess 

19 


THE    PROVENgAL    LYRIC 

binds  and  imprisons  the  poet,  who  is  com- 
pelled to  fulfil  every  command.  Only  when 
Love  wills  does  he  sing.  To  quote  Bernart 
de  Ventadorn  again: 

Never  believe  I  shall  be  recreant  found 

And  cease  to  love,  for  all  his  injury; 

Power  to  escape  is  nowise  left  in  me, 
For  Love  assails  and  smites  me  to  the  ground. 

Where'er  he  wills,  my  love  is  in  that  place. 

If  I  love  her  who  can  not  show  me  grace, 
"Tis  force  of  Love  makes  me  do  vassalage. 

The  cause  of  love  is  beauty,  and,  under  the 
circumstances,  a  troubadour  might  naturally 
be  expected  to  exert  himself  to  the  utmost 
in  praise  of  his  patroness.  We  indeed  grow 
weary  of  hearing  of  her  tender  person,  beauti- 
ful eyes,  sweet  glance,  clear,  fresh  com- 
plexion, blonde  hair,  and  beautiful  smiling 
mouth  with  white  teeth.  Without  equal  in 
20 


THE    PROVENQAL    LYRIC 

beauty,  she  also  excels  in  good  sense,  courtesy 
and  kindness.  She  is  the  most  refined  and 
gentle  creature  that  one  can  choose  in  the 
world.  Rather  more  original  than  the  general 
style  is  the  following  stanza  of  Pons  de 
Capdueil: 

If  every  joy  and  meed, 

The  finest,  highest  worth, 
Each  courteous  word  and  deed, 

Of  all  the  best  on  earth , 
Were  by  God's  will  combined 

And  set  in  one  alone, 

Her  merits  would  be  known 
A  hundred-fold  behind 

Those  which  my  love  has  shown. 

The  beauty  of  the  lady,   penetrating    the 

lover's  eyes,  smites  his  heart.     This  wound 

causes  infinite  suffering.     He  weeps,  grows 

pale  and  certainly  will  die,  unless  she  shows 

21 


THE    PROVENCAL    LYRIC 

mercy.  He  cannot  sleep.  Day  and  night  her 
image  is  constantly  before  him  and  he  can 
think  of  nothing  else.  Thus  love  is  conceived 
as  a  sickness,  and  there  naturally  results  a 
metaphor,  often  repeated  and  extensively 
elaborated,  in  which  the  lady  appears  as  a 
physician.  Thus  Peire  Raimon  sings: 

I  have  learned  how  love  can  wound, 

Grievously  his  dart  I  feel, 

But  how,  sweetly,  he  can  heal, 
That  I  never  yet  have  found. 

The  physician  well  I  know 

Who  alone  can  cure  my  pain, 

But  to  me  what  is  the  gain, 
If  my  wound  I  dare  not  show? 

And  again  in  another  poem : 

The  pangs  of  love,  which  still  return, 
Within  me  now  more  fiercely  burn; 

22 


THE    PROVENgAL    LYRIC 

Desire  and  pain  my  bosom  fill, 
And  though  my  heart  is  smitten  through, 
The  doctor  who  can  heal  my  ill 
Will  lengthen  out  the  treatment  still. 
Just  as  the  other  doctors  do. 

Thus  love  leads  to  contradictions  and  fool- 
ishness. "Little  loves  he  who  grows  not 
foolish/'  is  the  opinion  of  Bernart  de  Ven- 
tadorn.  Sometimes  the  poet,  bereft  of  his 
senses,  can  neither  hear  nor  see.  Sometimes 
all  nature  appears  to  him  reversed;  he  takes 
the  snow  for  verdure,  and  fills  his  song  with 
such  absurdities  as:  "I  am  sick,  yet  no  one 
was  ever  more  healthy.  ...  I  give  though  I 
have  nothing.  ...  I  am  a  fool  yet  wiser  than 
Cato.  ...  I  sing  that  which  I  know  not  how 
to  sing." 

In  the  presence  of  his  lady  the  lover  trembles, 
grows  pale,  and  loses  control  of  himself.  He 

at 


THE    PROVENgAL    LYRIC 

dares  not  speak.  Often  he  adores  her  with 
a  curious  and  (to  the  modern  mind)  blas- 
phemous intermingling  of  gallantry  and  re- 
ligion. He  approaches  her  on  his  knees  with 
clasped  hands,  he  worships  the  very  country 
in  which  she  dwells.  Her  smile  seems  like 
the  smile  of  God,  and  if  God  shall  have  any 
part  in  him,  He  must  hold  it  as  a  fief  from 
her.  Had  he  been  so  faithful  to  God  as  to 
her,  he  would  surely  enter  Paradise  alive. 
Less  offensive  than  such  expressions  is  the 
pretty  opening  of  a  poem  by  Bernart  de 
Ventadorn: 

From  my  lady's  country  blowing, 
When  the  breezes  sweetly  rise, 

To  me,  it  seems,  is  flowing 
Fragrance  from  Paradise. 

The  poet  exalts  his  lady's  fame.     She  is 
24 


THE    PROVENgAL    LYRIC 

the  most  beautiful  and  the  noblest  in  the 
world,  unequalled  in  virtue.  All  who  ap- 
proach her  are  benefited,  the  sick  grow  well, 
the  rough  courteous,  the  ignorant  wise.  Even 
a  thought  of  his  lady  is  sufficient  for  Peire 
Vidal: 

When  one  thinks  of  her,  that  day 

He  cannot  live  as  one  forlorn, 

For  in  her  sweet  joy  is  born, 
And  whatsoever  one  might  say 

In  her  praise,  he  could  not  lie ; 

For  no  man  can  e'er  deny 
She's  the  best  in  all  the  world. 

The  poet  professes  unchangeable  devotion 
and  absolute  submission  to  his  lady's  will. 
Nothing  is  hard  that  pleases  her.  He  would 
not  complain  even  if  she  should  kill  him. 
A  small  token  from  her  is  of  the  highest 
value.  He  would  be  rich  if  she  should  give 

25 


THE    PROVENgAL    LYRIC 

him  a  thread  from  her  glove  or  one  hair 
that  fell  upon  her  cloak.  He  believes  that 
he  was  made  for  no  other  purpose  than  to 
honor  her.  In  comparison  with  her  love, 
everything  else  in  the  world  is  worthless, 
and  he  had  rather  despair  for  her  than  posesss 
another.  He  would,  indeed,  receive  as  his 
lord  a  shepherd  or  even  an  enemy  coming 
from  her.  To  one  poet  she  is  dearer  than 
his  eyes  or  his  teeth.  More  tastefully,  Peire 
Raimon  sings: 

Myself  I  have  devoted,  as  was  right, 
To  love  and  to  the  lady  whom  I  prize ; 
Justly  I  chose,  taught  by  my  judging  eyes, 
The  beauty  who  is  flower,  and  glass  and  light, 
And  source  and  guide  of  what  is  true  and  meet ; 

And  since  so  sweet 

My  heart  she  wounded  with  a  glance  of  love, 
I  think  of  nothing  else,  no  pleasure  prove 
From  other  joys,  remember  nought  but  her. 

26 


THE    PROVENQAL    LYRIC 

Love  ennobles  the  lover.  It  makes  him 
courteous,  generous  and  brave.  He  is  puri- 
fied by  this  flame  as  gold  in  the  fire.  So  Pons 
de  Capdueil: 

Whom  love  holds  joyous  has  a  happy  fate, 

For  love's  the  source  of  every  benefit ; 

Through  love  men  grow  accomplished,  graced  with  wit. 

Gentle  and  frank,  humble  and  yet  elate ; 

Better  a  thousand  times,  where  love  is  found, 

Are  courts  and  wars,  whence  worthy  deeds  abound  ; 

My  whole  heart,  therefore,  for  the  promised  gain, 

I  give  to  love,  nor  for  the  grievous  pain 

And  anguish  that  I  bear  do  I  complain. 

Thus  love  maintains  prowess  and  courtesy. 
Without  lady-service  there  would  be  no 
worth  or  honor,  measure  or  good  breeding. 
It  is,  above  all,  the  source  of  song,  as  is 
declared  by  Aimeric  de  Peguilhan,  among 
others: 

27 


THE    PROVENCAL    LYRIC 

Good  lady,  I  from  you  and  Love  receive 

Sense,  knowledge,  vigor,  heart,  good  words  and  song; 

To  you  And  Love  the  thanks  and  praise  belong 
If  anything  of  worth  I  may  achieve, 
For  you  have  given  me  this  mastery. 

A  curious  survival  of  the  early  song  of 
illicit  passion  is  the  universal  fear  of  detec- 
tion. Love  must  be  concealed,  and,  ostensibly 
for  this  purpose,  the  lady  is  always  addressed 
under  an  assumed  name;  a  disguise,  it  may 
be  added,  which  was  usually  perfectly  trans- 
parent. Tale-bearers,  moreover,  were  over- 
whelmed with  opprobrious  epithets.  They 
were  hard,  cruel,  tormenting,  envious,  evil- 
speaking  and  low-bred. 

Such  is  a  general  outline  of  this  system  of 
courtly  love.  The  songs  in  which  these  ideas 
are  expressed  are  naturally  artificial,  appeal- 
ing chiefly  to  the  intellect  and  abounding  in 

28 


THE    PROVENgAL    LYRIC 

fanciful  conceits.  In  addition  to  the  metaphor 
of  the  physician,  already  mentioned,  we  have 
the  frequent  comparison  of  the  troubadour  in 
love  to  a  fish  in  the  water.  Again  and  again 
the  eyes  and  the  heart  are  personified,  and 
sometimes  referred  to  as  enemies,  on  account 
of  the  injury  they  work.  Laf ranc  Cigala  has- 
a  tenso,  in  a  dream,  between  his  heart,  him- 
self and  his  understanding,  as  to  whether  the 
sufferings  of  lovers  are  due  to  themselves, 
to  Love,  or  to  the  lady  loved.  Sometimes  the 
ingenuity  is  very  striking,  as  when  Folquet  de 
Marseille  tells  his  lady  that,  since  he  holds  her 
in  his  heart,  she  should  be  very  careful  not  to 
inflame  him  too  much,  for,  in  the  burning  she 
herself  might  be  injured.  "The  fire  that 
burns  me,"  writes  Guilhem  de  Cabestaing, 
"is  such  that  the  Nile  will  not  extinguish  it, 

29 


THE    PROVENgAL    LYRIC 

any  more  than  a  delicate  thread  will  sustain  a 
tower." 

Foremost  among  the  love-poets,  by  common 
consent,  stands  Beruart  de.  Ventadorn.  One 
of  his  best  known  lyrics  will  therefore  be 
given  entire  as  a  specimen  of  the  type  we 
have  just  been  discussing: 

It  is  no  wonder  if  I  sing 
Better  than  all  who  know  that  art, 
For  love  most  strongly  rules  my  heart ; 

Him  I  obey  in  every  thing. 

Body  and  heart  and  mind  and  thought 
And  strength  to  him  I  consecrate ; 
He  draws  me  with  a  force  so  great, 

I  look  on  all  but  love  as  naught. 

Life  without  love — what  is  it  worth  ? 
The  man  whose  heart  is  never  fed 
"With  love's  sweet  food,  indeed  is  dead ; 

He's  but  a  cumbrance  on  the  earth. 

30 


THE    PROVENCAL    LYRIC 

Lord,  may  thy  hatred  never  move 
So  fierce  against  me  that  I  may 
Survive  a  month,  a  single  day, 

And  have  no  heart  to  long  for  love. 


She  whom  I  love  with  faithful  mind 

Is  best  and  fairest,  yet  my  eyes 

Are  filled  with  tears,  my  heart  with  sighs ; 
Too  much  I  love — my  hurt  I  find. 
Helpless,  Love  takes  me  prisoner, 

And  in  his  prison  I  must  sit ; 

No  key  but  pity  opens  it, 
And  pity  is  not  found  in  her. 


It  is  indeed  my  firm  belief 

That,  when  I  see  my  lady  near, 

I  tremble  visibly  with  fear, 
As  in  the  wind  a  quivering  leaf ; 
My  weakness  before  Love  is  such, 

A  child  would  have  more  sense  than  I. 

And  one  who  thus  must  conquered  lie 
A  lady  ought  to  pity  much. 

31 


THE    PROVENCAL    LYRIC 

Good  lady,  this  alone  I  ask, 

As  vassal  take  me ;  service  due, 

As  to  a  lord,  I'll  pay  to  you, 
Though  no  reward  should  crown  my  task. 
Behold  me  here  at  your  command, 

Frank,  humble,  courteous,  bold  and  gay; 

Would  you,  like  bear  or  lion,  slay 
One  who  thus  yields  him  to  your  hand  ? 


Sweet  is  the  wound  that  Love  doth  give ; 

He  smites  my  heart,  and  smites  again  ; 

I  die  a  hundred  times  with  pain, 
A  hundred  times  with  joy  re-live. 
So  sweet  these  ills,  they  have  surpassed 

All  other  benefits  combined ; 

And  since  the  ills  so  good  I  find, 
How  good  the  recompense  at  last ! 


O  God !  might  every  lover  now 
As  false  or  true  distinguished  be ; 
Might  tricksters,  full  of  calumny, 

Bear  each  a  horn  upon  his  brow ! 

32 


THE    PROVENgAL    LYRIC 

I'd  freely  give,  if  it  were  mine, 
Silver  and  gold,  all  earth  can  show, 
If  my  sweet  lady  could  but  know 

How  faithful  is  my  love  and  fine. 

To  Courteous,  to  my  lady,  go 

My  song,  and  may  she  feel  no  woe, 

Nor  my  long  absence  e'er  repine. 

Such  was  the  lyric  of  love.  Sung  before  a 
court,  or,  in  other  words,  before  society  as  con- 
stituted in  the  Middle  Ages,  it  formed  a  large 
part  of  polite  public  entertainment.  But  from 
many  a  radiant  assemblage,  she  who  had  been 
its  animating  spirit  was  removed  by  the  in- 
exorable hand  of  death.  The  poet  who  had 
celebrated  love  and  joy  and  beauty  must  now 
attune  his  music  to  the  voice  of  grief.  The 
plaint,  a  form  which,  even  to-day,  after  so 
many  centuries,  can  touch  our  hearts,  was  the 

83 


THE    PROVENQAL    LYRIC 

vehicle  of  his  emotion.  Let  us  listen  to'the 
sorrow  of  Pons  de  Capdueil  at  the  death  of 
Lady  Adelaide: 

Of  all  the  wretched  I  am  he  who  bears 
Most  grievous  pain  and  anguish  of  the  mind. 
I  long  to  die.  and  I  would  deem  him  kind 

Who  slew  me,  for  my  spirit  so  despairs ; 

My  life  is  naught  but  misery  and  dread 

Since  Lady  Adelaide,  alas !  is  dead : 
I  suffer  from  the  injury  and  dole. 

O,  traitorous  Death !  you  can  most  truly  say, 

A  better  in  the  world  you  could  not  slay. 

Ah,  it  had  been  to  me  a  blessed  thing 
If  God  had  willed  that  I  should  first  have  died. 
Wretched,  alas !    I  would  not  long  abide, 

Now  she  is  gone.    Pardon  her,  Jesus,  King, 

Almighty  God  of  justice  and  of  truth ; 

Save  her,  O  Christ,  by  thy  exceeding  ruth ! 
St.  Peter  and  St.  John,  receive  her  soul ! 

For  in  it  dwell  all  virtues  men  can  see, 

And  from  all  trace  of  evil  it  is  free. 

34 


THE    PROVENCAL    LYRIC 

It  is  but  right  that  every  man  should  wail, 
For  never  did  God  make  such  charms  on  earth  : 
Who  any  more  can  show  such  winsome  worth ! 
What  now  do  beauty  and  good  sense  avail ! 
What  now  avail  honor  and  social  meetings, 
Delight  and  courtesy  and  tender  greetings ! 

What  now  avail  frank  speech  and  actions  strong ! 
Sad  age,  your  meanness  in  my  heart  I  hate, 
Of  you  nor  more  can  man  the  best  relate. 

We  may  be  sure  the  happy  angels  raise 
A  song  of  joy  on  knowing  she  is  dead, 
For  I  have  heard,  and  in  the  books  'tis  read : 
"  God  praises  one  whom  all  the  people  praise." 
Whence  I  am  sure  she's  in  the  palace  fair, 
Amongst  the  lilies  and  the  roses,  where 

The  angels  praise  her  joyously  in  song. 
So  should,  indeed,  the  one  who  never  lies, 
Seat  her  above  the  rest  in  Paradise. 

Joy  is  destroyed,  and  lost  is  youth's  bright  mien. 
And  all  the  world  lies  under  heavy  blight ; 
For  counts  and  dukes  and  many  a  noble  knight 

She  made  more  worthy — now  no  longer  seen 

35 


THE    PROVENgAL    LYRIC 

By  any  one — and  she  imparted  grace 

To  a  thousand  ladies.    God  has  turned  his  face 

Away  in  wrath,  who  raised  her  worth  so  high ; 
For  with  her  he  has  taken  happiness 
And  song,  and  left  us  sorrow  and  distress. 

Ah,  since  my  Lady  Adelaide  has  died, 
What  ills  I  bear !    For  I  must  lay  aside 

All  joy,  and  say  to  song  my  last  good-bye. 
Sighing  and  weeping  henceforth  is  my  part, 
And  sad  complaint  and  anguish  of  the  heart. 

Friend  Andrew,  changed  desires  within  me  reign ; 
Never  shall  I  delight  in  love  again. 

Such  words  may  seem  heart-felt;  yet,  even 
in  this  form  of  song,  conventionality  soon 
prevailed.  Every  poet  uttered  the  same  ex- 
aggerated laments  and  praises.  He  would 
contrast  his  past  joy  with  his  present  grief, 
and  resolve  to  abandon  song  forever — a  re- 
solution, it  may  be  said,  that  was  rarely  kept. 

36 


THE    PROVENQAL    LYRIC 

Nothing  could  alleviate  such  pain,  nor  could 
words  express  it :  joy  is  hateful,  the  mere 
thought  of  his  loss  is  enough  to  slay  the 
mourner;  it  were  better  to  have  died  first, 
for  the  world  seems  miserable  and  worthless; 
all  people  are  called  upon  to  join  in  weeping, 
and  curses  are  heaped  upon  false,  traitorous, 
injurious  Death.  At  the  same  time,  the  lady 
is  represented  as  the  best,  noblest,  completest, 
that  could  exist ;  she  is  the  summit  and  the 
source  of  worth  and  virtue;  with  her  every- 
thing splendid  has  sunk  into  the  grave:  may 
the  Lord  save  her  soul  and  place  her  among 
the  saints  in  heaven. 

Again  and  again  we  find  the  same  ideas 
expressed  in  the  same  language.  In  the  Pro- 
vengal  lyric  formalism  crushed  and  annihil- 
ated all  freshness  and  life.  And  yet,  as  we 

87 


THE    PROVENCAL    LYRIC 

look  back  upon  the  past,  Provence  is  the  very 
land  of  romance,  and  no  historic  figures  seem 
to  embody  the  freedom,  love  and  adventure — 
in  fact,  all  the  romantic  elements  of  the  age 
of  chivalry — so  completely  as  the  troubadours. 
For,  even  if  their  poetry  abounds  in  common- 
place, their  lives  do  not.  No  field  has  offered 
better  opportunities  to  our  modern  poets  than 
the  biographies  of  these  wandering  singers. 

They  are  biographies  that,  in  this  critical 
age,  we  cannot  accept  as  truth;  but  what  we 
reluctantly  yield  in  the  domain  of  fact,  we 
cling  to,  with  greater  persistence,  in  the 
domain  of  poetry.  Real  events,  the  treasures 
of  folk-lore,  and  the  play  of  imaginative 
genius,  have  combined  to  mould  these  stories 
into  shapes  that  cannot  die. 

The  jongleur,   before  he  chanted  a  song, 

38 


THE    PROVENCAL    LYRIC 

narrated  the  life-history  upon  which  it  was 
founded.  Sometimes,  perhaps, '[he  told  that 
which  he  knew;  more  frequently,  however,  he 
relied  upon  tradition,  or  even  upon  his  own 
fancy.  Thus  were  accumulated  the  materials 
for  those  tales  of  passion  which  have  inspired 
succeeding  poets  from  Dante  to  Swinburne 
and  Browning,  the  Biographies  of  the  Trou- 
badours. In  them  are  to  be  found  tragedy 
and  comedy,  faithfulness  and  deception,  affec- 
tion, jealousy  and  hate.  No  one  who  reads 
them,  with  any  belief  in  their  accuracy,  can 
help  feeling  that,  when  their  heroes  occupied 
the  stage,  the  chief  business  of  life  was  love. 

We  read  of  Rudel,  who  was  enamoured  of 

the  Countess  of  Tripoli,  without  ever  having 

seen  her,  solely  upon  the  reports  of  her  beauty 

and  virtue  which  he  heard    from    pilgrims 

39 


THE    PROVENQAL    LYRIC 

returning  from  the  Holy  Land.  In  her  honor 
he  made  all  his  songs,  and  at  last,  in  order 
that  he  might  see  her,  he  joined  the  Crusaders 
and  began  his  voyage  across  the  sea.  But  a 
great  sickness  fell  upon  him,  and  when  he 
reached  the  haven  he  was  dying.  Yet  he 
could  thank  God  that,  before  his  death,  he 
had  seen  his  lady.  Within  her  arms  he 
breathed  his  last,  and  she,  in  her  grief,  en- 
tered a  convent  that  very  day. 

Less  tragic,  but  hardly  less  romantic,  is  a 
story  of  Peire  Vidal,  who  at  one  time  believed 
himself  Emperor  of  Constantinople.  In  love 
with  Madame  Loba — a  name  that  signifies 
wolf — he  attired  himself  in  a  wolf-skin,  al- 
lowed himself  to  be  pursued  in  the  mountains 
.by  huntsmen  and  hounds,  and  was  almost 
killed  for  his  pains. 

40 


THE    PROVENgAL    LYRIC 

Guilhem  de  Balaruc,  learning  from  a  friend 
that  a  lover,  reconciled  to  his  sweetheart  after 
a  quarrel,  has  a  happiness  equal  to  that  caused 
by  the  first  interchange  of  affection,  departs 
from  his  lady,  insults  her  messengers,  and 
refuses  all  offers  of  reconcilement.  When  he 
thinks  it  time  to  renew  his  courtship,  it  is  she 
who  is  obdurate,  and  only  after  long  efforts 
and  the  intervention  of  many  friends,  is  he 
pardoned.  The  penance  imposed  upon  him 
by  the  lady  is  severe.  He  must  draw  out  the 
nail  of  his  little  finger,  and  send  it  to  her 
with  a  song  in  which  he  declares  his  folly  and 
expresses  his  sorrow  for  his  fault.  Both  con- 
ditions he,  of  course,  joyfully  fulfils. 

Most  famous  of  all,  perhaps,  is  the  story 
of  Guilhem  de  Cabestaing.  This  knight  fell 
under  the  suspicions  of  his  lord,  but,  by  pre- 
41 


THE    PROVENQAL    LYRIC 

tending  that  his  passion,  was  for  his  lady's 
sister,  and  by  enlisting  her  services  in  the 
imposture,  he  for  some  time  escaped  detection. 
At  length,  however,  one  of  his  own  songs 
betrayed  his  secret.  He  was  slain,  and  his 
heart  was  served  to  his  lady  at  her  repast. 
When  informed  what  it  was  she  had  eaten 
unaware,  she  said:  "  My  lord,  you  have  given 
me  so  good  a  food  to  eat,  that  I  will  never 
again  taste  of  any  other."  And  casting  her- 
self from  a  lofty  balcony,  she  died. 

In  such  wise  has  romantic  fiction  embel- 
lished the  lives  of  the  troubadours  and  re- 
flected its  splendor  upon  their  songs.  Other 
bards  have  celebrated  an  Achilles,  a  Roland, 
or  a  Siegfried,  but  these  bards  are  themselves 
heroes  of  poetry. 

Among  them  all,  there  is  none,  perhaps,  who 
42 


THE    PROVENgAL    LYRIC 

is,  at  the  same  time,  so  distinguished  for  his 
own  poems  and  for  his  legendary  reputation, 
as  Bertran  de  Born.  Living  during  the  event- 
ful period  of  the  wars  between  Henry  II.  of 
England  and  his  rebellious  sons,  and  himself 
taking  a  prominent  part  in  these  contests,  this 
singer  represents,  in  the  fullest  degree,  the 
warlike  element  in  the  Provencal  lyric.  Love, 
indeed,  he  sang,  but  his  chief  inspiration  was 
the  trumpet  of  battle.  He  was,  in  turn,  in 
friendly  and  in  hostile  relations  with  all  three 
of  the  young  princes — with  Henry,  known  as 
"the  Young  King,"  with  Geoffrey,  and  with 
Richard  of  the  Lion-heart. 

He    has   been  called  the  Tyrtaeus  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  a  misnomer,  perhaps,  but,  under 
all  circumstances,  it  seems  his  voice  was  still 
for  war.     In  his  view, 
43 


THE    PROVENgAL    LYRIC 

Young  men  who  warfare  do  not  seek 
Grow  flabby,  cowardly  and  weak. 

It  is  "courts  and  wars  and  the  joy  of  love" 
that  fill  him  "with  happiness  and  song."  In 
times  of  unworthy  peace,  he  seeks  to  stir  up 
strife,  singing: 

War  is  my  joy,  since  war,  so  long, 
Love  and  my  lady  wage  with  me ; 
Through  war  exalted  high  I  see 

Love-service,  courts,  delight  and  song. 

In  war  the  vulgar  clown  grows  bold 
And  courteous,  therefore  war  well  fought 
Delights  me,  not  the  quiet  bought 

And  kept  alive  by  love  of  gold. 

When  assailed  in  his  castle  of  Autafort, 
apparently  because  he  had  forced  his  "brother 
out  and  usurped  his  rights,  he  is  still  defiant : 

44 


THE    PROVENCAL    LYRIC 

Though  peace  throughout  the  land  I  see, 

I  must  continue  still  to  fight ; 
Plague  on  him  who  would  take  from  me 

My  castle, — though  not  mine  by  right ! 
May  peace  still  be  far ! 
I  welcome  the  war ! 
For  no  other  law 
I  hold  worth  a  straw. 

Nor  year,  nor  month,  nor  week,  nor  dayr 

Do  I  regard,  in  this  affair  ; 
There  is  no  season  I  would  stay 

My  hand  from  injury,  and  spare 
Those  doing  me  wrong ; 
Nor  are  they  so  strong 
That  three  of  the  best 
A  strap's  worth  could  wrest. 

Let  him  who  will  his  forests  fell, 

I  strive  to  still  far  other  needs ; 
For  swords  and  arrows  suit  me  well, 

And  helms  and  haubercs,  swords  and  steeds  ; 
I  find  my  delight 
In  tourney  and  fight, 

45 


THE    PROVENQAL    LYRIC 

Assaults  on  the  walls, 
Gifts  and  love  in  the  halls. 

He  curses  the  peasants  and  delights  in  their 
ills.  The  merchants,  too,  are  despised  and 
hated.  Aristocrat  from  top  to  toe,  he  can  see 
no  good  in  the  commons.  None  of  his  songs 
shows  his  spirit  more  completely  than  that 
vigorous  sirventesc  written,  probably,  when 
Richard  of  England  and  Alfonso  of  Castile 
were  about  to  unite  their  forces  against  the 
King  of  France.  It  is  as  follows: 

For  the  two  kings  in  song  I  make  appeal, 

That  many  cavaliers  may  soon  appear  : 
Alfonso,  valiant  monarch  of  Castile, 

Intends,  they  say,  to  hire  soldiers  here  ; 
And  Richard's  gold  and  silver  will  not  fail 

In  bushels  upon  bushels,  for  he  makes 

A  joy  of  giving :  now  no  pledge  he  takes, 
But  longs  for  war  more  than  a  hawk  for  quail. 

46 


THE    PROVENgAL    LYRIC 

If  honor  and  if  courage  do  not  melt 
From  the  two  kings,  we  soon  shall  see  the  fields 
With  fragments  strewn  of  swords  and  helms  and  shields 

And  men  cut  through  the  body  to  the  belt ; 

In  fury  we  shall  see  steeds  charging  past, 
And  many  a  lance  through  bosom  and  through  thigh, 
And  joy  and  tears,  moan  and  exultant  cry; 

Vast  is  the  loss,  the  gain  surpassing  vast. 

Pennant  and  flag,  trumpet  and  beating  drum, 

Insignia  and  chargers  of  the  best, 
We  soon  shall  see,  for  the  good  times  will  come  ; 

The  wealth  from  usurers  we  then  will  wrest ; 
No  beasts  of  burden  safely  can  proceed 

Upon  our  roads,  nor  townsman  free  from  fear, 

Nor  merchants  come  from  France  to  traffic  here — 
Rich  will  those  be  who  seize  the  goods  they  need. 

1  trust  in  God  that,  if  the  kings  arrive, 
I  shall  be  hewn  in  pieces,  or  alive  : 
And  if  I  live,  great  joy  shall  be  my  share, 
And  if  I  die,  I  shall  be  free  from  care. 

Bertran  has  been  considered,  perhaps  un- 

47 


THE    PROVENgAL    LYRIC 

justly,  the  chief  instigator  of  the  rebellions  of 
Henry,  the  Young  King,  against  his  father. 
At  any  rate,  he  took  part,  both  with  sword 
and  lyre,  in  these  wars,  and  he  grieved  bit- 
terly over  the  Young  King's  death.  This 
personage,  according  to  the  poet's  account, 
was  generous,  well-spoken,  a  good  horseman, 
and  very  handsome.  He  maintained  the  plea- 
sures of  youth,  of  arms  and  of  love.  His 
welcome  was  lavish  and  his  giving  prodigal. 
His  entertainments  combined  banqueting  with 
viol  and  song.  The  boldest  since  Roland,  he 
is  wept  by  all,  and  may  God  receive  his  soul. 
The  famous  lament  opens  with  these  words: 

I  end  my  singing  doleful  and  forlorn, 
Never  again  its  music  to  employ  : 
For  I  have  lost  my  reason  and  my  joy, 

And  the  best  king  that  ever  yet  was  born. 

48 


THE    PROVENQAL    LYRIC 

It  was  shortly  after  this  brilliant  figure  had 
euded  his  career  in  sackcloth  and  ashes,  and 
with  a  prayer  for  forgiveness  on  his  lips,  that 
his  father,  Henry  II.,  laid  siege  to  Autafort 
with  the  purpose  of  wreaking  vengeance  upon 
the  evil  genius  of  his  beloved  son.  The  castle 
fell,  and  Bertran  was  captured  and  led  before 
the  stern  old  warrior.  "  Bertran,  Bertran  I" 
exclaimed  the  King,  "you  have  boasted  that 
never  at  any  time  have  you  needed  even  the 
half  of  your  wit,  but  know  that  in  this  peril 
you  will  indeed  require  all  you  can  command." 
"What  I  boasted,"  answered  Bertran,  "was 
quite  true."  "But  now,"  said  the  King,  "be 
assured  your  talent  will  fail  you."  "Indeed, 
my  lord,  it  has  failed,"  replied  Bertran  ;  "  for 
the  day  the  valiant  Young  King,  your  son, 
died,  I  lost  all  my  sense  and  knowledge  and 
49 


THE    PROVENgAL    LYRIC 

wit."  And  the  King  wept,  and  pardoned 
Bertran,  and  restored  to  him  his  lauds  and 
honors. 

Such  is  the  old  story,  rendered  familiar  to 
modern  readers  by  Uhland's  ballad.  Yet,  in 
that  relentless  poem,  the  Divine  Comedy  of 
Dante,  we  find  Bertran,  not  pardoned,  but  in 
one  of  the  lowest  depths  of  Hell.  Passing 
from  horror  almost  beyond  thought  to  that 
still  more  horrible,  the  great  voyager  through 
the  realms  of  death  comes  to  the  ninth  divi- 
sion of  that  circle  beyond  which  lies  only 
the  region  of  eternal  ice.  In  this  bolgia  are 
punished  those  who  have  sown  civil  or  reli- 
gious discord  among  the  members  of  the 
human  race.  Each  is  mutilated  to  a  degree 
corresponding  with  his  crime.  Mahomet  is 
hardly  to  be  described,  and  there  are  many 
50 


others  whose  wounds  we  should  be  glad  to 
forget.  Among  them,  one  figure  appears, 
holding  up  his  own  head  by  the  hair,  as  a 
lantern;  and  when  he  nears  the  bridge  upon 
which  Vergil  and  Dante  stand,  the  head  opens 
its  mouth  and  cries:  "Has  any  a  penalty  so 
great  as  this?  ...  I  am  Bertran  de  Born,  he 
who  gave  evil  counsel  to  the  Young  King. 
Because  I  made  the  son  a  rebel  against  his 
father,  I  bear  forever  my  own  head  divided 
from  my  body." 

The  Young  King,  whom  Bertran  is  thus 
supposed  to  have  separated  from  his  father, 
was  a  favorite  of  the  troubadours.  They 
praised  his  recklessness,  both  in  the  generous 
prodigality  of  his  gifts  and  in  the  impetuosity 
of  his  undertakings.  In  contrast  with  their 
admiration  for  this  hero  of  the  age  just  dying, 

51 


THE    PROVENCAL    LYRIC 

these  poets  had  nothing  but  contempt  and 
scorn  for  Philip  Augustus  of  France,  the 
calculating  statesman  who,  adapting  means  to 
ends,  built  up  a  nation  which  took  its  place 
among  the  greatest  of  the  world.  Wherever 
the  serious  affairs  of  politics  deprived  the 
wandering  singers  of  their  accustomed  gifts 
and  honors,  we  hear  more  and  more  of  bitter- 
ness in  their  songs ;  manners  have  decayed, 
love  is  dead,  the  knightly  spirit  has  departed. 
As  years  go  by,  the  sirventesc  gradually  su- 
persedes the  canso  of  love,  until  the  old  order 
has  changed,  giving  place  to  new. 

The  sirventesc  had,  indeed,  always  been 
important.  It  had  called  men  to  battle,  as 
we  have  seen  in  the  songs  of  Bertran  de  Born; 
it  had  distributed  praise  and  censure  among 
the  nobles  ;  it  had  spoken  the  national  ideals  ; 

52 


THE    PROVENCAL    LYRIC 

it  had  exhorted  Christians  to  the  Crusades. 
In  this  last  form,  we  find  eternal  welfare  set 
in  opposition  to  temporal  prosperity.  To 
serve  the  Saviour  who  suffered  death  for  us, 
the  pardoning  King  of  righteousness  and 
mercy,  one  should  abandon  all  that  he  loves 
most.  Thus  Peire  Vidal  sings: 

Lord  Jesus,  who  was  crucified 
To  save  all  Christians,  sends  command 
To  conquer  back  the  Holy  Land, 
Where  for  the  love  of  us  he  died, 
To  all  the  people  far  and  near ; 
If  we  refuse  obedience  here, 
"When  at  the  last  is  judged  each  plea, 
Many  a  harsh  sentence  we  shall  see. 

Such  songs — and  there  are  many  of  them — 
seem  to  breathe  a  real  religious  fervor,  but, 
for  the  most  part,  religion  occupied  but  a 
small  place  in  troubadour  poetry.  Even  in 

53 


THE    PROVENgAL    LYEIC 

the  exhortations  to  the  Crusades,  love  is  often 
more  prominent  than  duty  toward  God  and 
the  Church.  Usually  it  was  only  at  the  close 
of  life  that  the  other  world  cast  its  shadow 
upon  their  thoughts.  Many  of  them,  atoning 
for  lighter  days  by  fasting  and  penance, 
ended  their  careers  in  the  cloister.  Even  the 
earliest  of  the  troubadours,  Guillem  de  Poi- 
tiers, felt,  in  his  old  age,  the  emptiness  of 
life,  and  no  song  of  repentance  seems  more 
sincere  than  his: 

My  life  I  gave  to  joy  and  might, 
But  now  to  both  I  say  good-night. 
To  Him  I  go,  for  my  release, 
Who  gives  to  every  sinner  peace. 

Charming  and  gay  the  mien  I  bore, 
The  Lord  now  wills  it  so  no  more  ; 
The  weight  I  can  no  longer  bear, 
I  have  approached  the  end  so  near. 

54 


THE    PROVENCAL    LYRIC 

I  leave  all  things  most  dear  to  me, 
All  worldly  pride  and  chivalry ; 
Whate'er  God  wills,  that  I  embrace, 
And  pray  that  He  will  show  me  grace. 

As  so  many  of  the  brilliant  poets  thus  ended 
their  lives  in  the  practice  of  religious  devo- 
tion, so  the  whole  fabric  melted  away.  When 
Simon  de  Montfort  destroyed  the  chivalry  of 
Southern  France,  the  troubadours  perished 
from  the  earth.  Some  few,  indeed,  might 
keep  alive  a  spark  of  the  old  spirit  in  foreign 
lands,  but  the  flame  was  spent,  and  it  could 
not  be  rekindled.  In  1324  the  townsmen  of 
Toulouse  tried  to  revivify  the  ancient  lyric, 
but  the  Floral  Games  which  they  instituted, 
with  prizes  and  degrees  distributed  before  a 
great  concourse  of  citizens,  could  not  invigo- 
rate this  child  of  chivalry.  The  old  forms 
55 


THE    PEOVENgAL    LYRIC 

were  maintained — indeed  they  were  reduced  to 
a  science — and  the  lyric  which  had  celebrated 
earthly  passion  now  celebrated  the  love  of 
the  Virgin  Mary  and  the  love  of  God.  Yet 
all  real  life  had  fled.  The  Provencal  lyric 
was  the  offspring  and  the  expression  of  chiv- 
alric  society,  and  when  that  society  died,  this 
lyric  died  with  it. 

It  was  no  problem  poetry,  as  so  much  of 
our  recent  verse  pretends  to  be.  Limited  in 
range,  and  appealing  to  the  fancy  rather  than 
to  the  heart,  it  produced  no  surpassing  singer, 
no  Burns,  no  Heine.  But  its  influence  still 
survives.  Like  a  butterfly  among  the  flowers, 
it  flourished  for  its  brief  season,  and  then 
perished  utterly.  And  yet,  in  the  artistic 
impulse  which  it  gave  to  poetic  endeavor,  in 
the  civilizing  and,  with  all  its  faults,  elevating 

56 


THE    PROVENgAL    LYRIC 

influence  which  it  exerted  upon  European 
ideals,  and  in  the  passionate,  tender  and  brave 
romance  with  which  it  has  gifted  succeeding 
generations,  the  Provencal  lyric  remains,  and 
must  remain,  a  precious — in  truth,  an^invalu- 
able — contribution  to  universal  literature. 


57 


